Page 23 of Empire of Temptation

Like when Roberto wanted to remove my friend’s wines from the wine list. Roberto argued New Yorkers could not produce a proper red table wine, but Maggie and I went to school together. Her family, the Fiorentinos, ran one of the biggest wineries in the Hudson Valley. We were leaving their wines on the wine list, period.

So when Roberto said that he had a surprise for me outside, I was instantly wary.

I wasn’t a fan of surprises.

“Roberto, what’s going on?”

“You will like this, signorina.”

I wasn’t so sure, but I followed him through the front door and out onto the walk. A large white delivery truck was parked at the curb. A guy was putting a ladder away in the back.

“What do you think?” Roberto asked, pointing up.

What the hell? No. Wait. I blinked several times.

The sign. The restaurant’s sign had been replaced. Not only that, the name of therestauranthad been replaced.

Trattoria Rustica.

I didn’t know what to say. This sign was elegant and beautiful. Eye-catching and classy, with black block serif letters on a white background.

But it wasn’t the old sign.

The old sign had been there for as long as I could remember. It had a 1970s font and colors like the Italian flag. No doubt it went up when my grandfather opened the place.

My tongue felt thick, emotion strangling my throat. I couldn’t cry. It was stupid, to be upset over a sign with its incorrect name and outdated font. God knew keeping the sign wouldn’t bring my mother back. But I stood there, looking at this beautiful replacement, feeling like I’d failed. Like I’d disappointed her.

The ache in my chest multiplied, grief gathering like a wave, building and swirling inside me. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t even move.

“Signorina,” Roberto said, his eyes searching my face. “We thought you would like it.”

I should. Any fool would be grateful for the upgrade. Anyone except me, apparently.

Wait,we?

Roberto hadn’t made this decision alone. And immediately I knew who else was involved.

There is no shame in accepting help from others when you need it.

Damn it. Why did he do this? The old sign was perfectlyfine, even if not technically correct. It was one little letter. Who really cared?

This restaurant was mine, my legacy. My link to my mother and her family, the generations of Montellas who’d lived in the Hudson Valley. And now it was transforming into something totally different, something unrecognizable. Something I hadn’t approved.

Tears burned behind my eyelids. Jesus, was I going to cry over a sign? I dug my fingernails into my palms and tried to hold myself together. I felt brittle and helpless, a little girl trying to stay afloat in stormy waters.

“Signorina,” Roberto tried again. “Say something.”

I couldn’t. If I spoke, I feared that I would crumble onto the asphalt.

A horn honked behind us, and I automatically turned. A familiar red pickup truck slowed at the curb, my friend Maggie behind the wheel. We’d chatted briefly last night as I caught her up on what was happening at the restaurant.

“Look at this!” She pointed to the new sign as she came around the front of her truck. She wore a tight Yeah, Yeah, Yeahs t-shirt, flared jeans and Chucks, her shoulder-length brown hair tucked under a baseball cap. This was her usual attire. I think I’d seen her in a dress only once, and that had been at my mother’s funeral.

She came over to where Roberto and I stood and wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “Holy shit, Val! You’re fancy.”

I swallowed and tried to sound normal. “Is it too much? I mean, the old one was fine, right?”

“The old one went out with disco and key parties. This sign is really nice, babe.”

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